The Saviour
by mintaddiction
Summary: Near victory, Voldemort attempts to send Harry back to be slaughtered by his younger self, to establish an earlier triumph. Hermione, swept back instead, comes face to face with Tom Riddle on the cusp of his final descent into the deepest darkness.


**Disclaimer**: Everything associated with the Harry Potter universe belongs solely to JK Rowling. This is a non-profitable piece of writing.

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><p><strong>THE SAVIOUR<strong>

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><p>He watched with a hard glint of satisfaction as the black haired boy's eyes rolled back weakly into his head. His emaciated and naked body slumped against the jagged stone of the wall, broken. His chest still gulped shallow breaths. The last gasp of the forsaken.<p>

Out the corner of his eye, he noticed a violent struggle, a desperate movement. He tilted his head away from the distraction, and instead, savoured the deathly appearance of the boy at his feet. Was it enough?

The boy's green eyes pushed open, and his hands twisted frantically against the floor, seeking protection.

Lord Voldemort considered the sight with contempt. Obviously, his efforts had not yet been appreciated.

"Kill me," the boy's raspy, damaged voice whispered. The tortured sound echoed in the chamber, amplifying in a fearsome crescendo. "Curse me. Do it now, Riddle."

Lord Voldemort smirked inwardly at this last scene of bravado. Intense, undiluted stupidity. Still, he said nothing. Weighing his wand in his pale hand, the fingers on his right hand twitched slightly in longing. Just a swish of his wand, and this insolent, ignorant _fool_ would be dealt with, at last.

But, no. He had to retain his control. The boy's death now would momentarily give him satisfaction – but it was not enough. One curse, especially curse so simple, was not an equal revenge, a compensation for his lost years, the decade of exile. Yes, time and years meant nothing to him now, but it was irrational to let the boy die here, at this moment in time.

Once again the desperate shuffle in gloomy corner caught him attention. In annoyance, he flicked his wand silently.

Two other malnourished, almost skeletal bodies appeared on either side of his prize. He watched in irritation as their eyes widened as they saw the extent of their friend's injuries up close, the dullness of the emerald eyes. The girl's hand visibly jerked towards him, but the unseen bond he had shackled them with snapped her wrist back into place with a violent snap, with the unmistakable crunch of a snapped bone.

Predictable. So predictable, the self righteous ignorance of the worthless, Gryffindor spirit.

_Kill him. Curse him – but only in the time he ought to be slaughtered._

He took a silent step towards them – and was gratified by the way all three instantaneously looked up in fear.

'_Where__ is __that __impudent __Gryffindor __courage__ now?__' _he taunted them, pushing out the thought into their weak minds.

He eyed the boy in the middle, the last Potter bastard, for the final time. He would satisfy the boy's pleads and murder him – but not in this time. No, the boy had stolen too much from Lord Voldemort. Because of this simpleton, he had spent too long in helplessness, in abhorrent weakness. The years of disembodied exile, of futile attempts to regain power – he had been robbed, robbed of the dominance he should have gained decades ago, not just now. And that would have to be righted.

Lord Voldemort raised his dark wand in the air, and slowly drew a perfect circle in the air. The representation of the continuous flow of existence, one dark manuscript had called it. An ambitious proclamation, but fundamentally correct. He raised his arm a second time, and slashed a diagonal line quickly and harshly through, ripping the peacefulness of natural order apart. This was a branch of magic he had learnt and enhanced many, many years ago, but never had the need for – until now.

He straightened his arm, and pointed his wand steadily at the boy through dashed circle. His dark magic swirled restlessly, eagerly around him, whipping through the confines of the chamber, knocking the wind out the other boy and the girl. _Now._

He shut his red eyes momentarily, recalling the exact words on the ancient, twisted text he had meticulously studied and memorised.

_Let every ounce, every fibre of the body cry out for the one who will be able to fulfil the darkest, most potent, subconscious desire._

The Potter boy, silent and still at the feet of his undefeated, younger self, the last hurdle overthrown on his quest to greatness.

His eyes drew open, burning and hungry. He looked straight forwards, at his greatest victory yet.

_Lord Voldemort will finally reap what had been robbed from him. _

The dark wand moved, and severed the circle clean through.

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><p><strong>AN:** I have never written a Harry Potter fanfic before... hopefully this one will turn out alright.

The plot is in my head, but not on paper/Microsoft Word yet. So updating may take a little bit of time, but hopefully not too much.

Please Read and Review! Reviews are a lovely way of letting me know if you like how I shape my fic i.e, if you don't like my style, characterization, anything.

Thank you all for reading!

Love, Mint.


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